


When John Met John

by PencilMonkey



Series: Silver Bullet Through the Heart [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: AU, Blood, Crossover, Don't Judge Me, Gen, Violence, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PencilMonkey/pseuds/PencilMonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Winchester got a lead on the yellow-eyed demon, it's in London. He flies over there leaving his sons in the States.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When John Met John

 "John, you know there's no lead over there," said an angry voice.

"Trust me, Bobby, one of my contacts said they heard of a yellow-eyed demon moving around London and it might be the only chance I've got," John said into the phone, his grip tightening around the object.

"Yeah, okay, but we ain't talking about London, Ontario, here," Bobby argued, "But London, ENGLAND."

"I know," John looked outside the booth; he was in the middle of the city and the streets were busy and noisy. It was so different from the silent long roads and the small town they used to travel to. He dropped his head and sighed, "It might be my only chance of catching Mary's kil--”

"I know, I know," Bobby interrupted, full of exasperation. "I know how you feel, but these are your damn kids."

"Dean can take care of Sam."

"I goddamn know he can!" Bobby snapped, "But you're their father and I can't take care of them forever. Can you just friggin' let go of the yell-- hello? John? JOHN! Balls..."

The hunter had hung up the phone in a fit of rage. How could he have asked that of him? Letting go of the demon that killed his wife? The mother of his boys? John would kill that demon himself, even if it meant losing his own life. If it meant that Sam and Dean would be finally safe and Mary's death finally avenged, he would have done it at the snap of the fingers.

He gets out of the booth and into the cold November air. People are chatting idly and going in and out of restaurants. It was just after seven and the sky was already dark. The air was crisp but it didn’t bring the mood of the people down. The streets were packed and noisy with car honks, people hailing taxis and drivers yelling at careless drunkards. He had a meeting with somebody in about an hour, so he decided to go to the nearest pub. He went into one that was generally silent and sat on a stool and took out his journal, flipping through without a thought. He landed on a picture of Mary; Dean was in her arms and she was around 7 months pregnant with Sam. They looked so goddamn happy. The barman came with his beer and he drank half the glass in one go. He didn’t care what the other thought; he had better things on his mind. He ordered another one and went back to stroking the picture. What did he ever do to deserve this life?

The front door opened, letting in the cold air. John shivered and pulled his coat closer.

“Oi, John!” The barman exclaimed, “How has it been? I haven’t seen you in years!”

“Five long years, mate,” the young man sighed, “Jesus, has it been that long? Anyway, this is my leave; I’m going back there next week.”

“Glad, to have you back,” the barman said.

The soldier came and sat at the stool next to John. The bar was half empty, why did he have to sit next to him. He looked up and the young man had sandy blond hair and tanned skin, clearly back from abroad. He was maybe a few inches smaller than him but he was a lot stockier than him. He wore a black striped sweater and plain dark blue jeans with his army boots. John drank from his glass, army men...

"Your wife and kid?"

"What?" the other John was now staring at him, grinning from ear to ear. He gestured to his open journal and the picture was still in plain sight. John closed his book abruptly, "None of your business," he grunted.

The young man didn't look surprise at his outburst but he did stop smiling, "Sorry, didn't mean to pry," he apologized.

The hunter finished his glass and slapped the money on the counter, "Keep the change." he said and left.

 

John Winchester walked up to his destination fifteen minutes early. It was a dark alleyway, in a crowded street. He waited in the shadows, watching his icy breath and listening to the crowd for any suspicious noise. They were always out there, lurking, hiding amongst the people. God, he had killed so many of those bastards. They made him paranoid, but he'd do whatever it takes to find a lead on that Yellow-Eyed fuck.

He brought his hands into the pockets of his ragged jacket. He fiddled with his swiss-knife, finding comfort in the gesture. Clattering made him whip is head around. He was not alone, not anymore. Something moved in the far corner of his left eye. The stranger emerged from the shadows, John huffed in relief, it was his contact. The man was thin, had short black hair, clear blue eyes and he shook nervously. His eyes were darting everywhere but they never landed on him.

"So," John started, making the guy look at him before turning his head away. "Where'd you see that demon."

The guy laughed, "Too easy, it was too easy," he said between clenched teeth.

"Hey, kid," John said, "Calm down and what the hell are you talking about."

"They said you only had to mention the demon and he would pop up," he laughed, harsher. He looked at John with glowing blue eyes and bared fangs.

John looked up at the sky, the moon was full. Damn it, he was fooled by a fucking werewolf.

"You killed my brother!" the creature exclaimed. "He just wanted a vacation in the US for god's sake!"

"Yeah," John took out his knife, thankfully made of silver, "I have no time for your sob stories"

The werewolf roared and jumped on John. The guy might be small but he was made strong by the moon. He was able to claw Winchester's cheek, only lightly. John backed away, his knife in front of him. He looked up and at the kid; he was licking the blood off his claws, triggering his bloodlust for more. He growled and made a move on John again, the hunter successfully nicked the guy on the arm this time. It was the bastard's turn to back away. 

"Shit, silver," he said, "FUCKER!" he roared.

John tried to back away, but the werewolf was faster than him. They were both on the ground, the creature on top of him. John held him at the shoulders, trying to take him off.

"I'm gonna open your chest," the lycanthrope spat, "and I'm gonna rip your heart with my bare teeth!"

As he surged forward, gunshots rang loud in the small alleyway. They lay still, eyes wide. John's misty breath came out in quick succession. The eyes of the werewolf began to lose light and a single trail of blood dropped from the tip of his nose to the hunter's forehead. He became deadweight in no time and John pushed it on the side.

"So much for a relaxing week," the intruder huffed.

John looked up to see the soldier from before. He walked quickly to John and began checking for injuries.

"It's okay, I'm a doctor," he reassured him. "Well, an army doctor. Oh, dear," he said while touching the slashes making John hiss. "Alright, Alright, if you don't want to go to the hospital,” he smirked. “You can always come with me; I always have an emergency kit somewhere."

John started to push himself on his feet, brushing the soldier's comments off. He began to panic; the werewolf could wake up any second now.

"Don't worry," the soldier said. "Silver bullets always do the trick," he brandish his gun in front of John and said, off handedly, "I won't tell if you don't."

"What?" John was a bit out of it, the adrenaline was quickly leaving his body. "Who are you and how did you find me?" 

“Oh! Sorry, where were my manners,” he put his gun away and extended his hand in front of him. “John Watson, we met at the bar—“

“Yeah yeah, save it,” Winchester dismissed, “But how did you find me?”

“Oh, well,” Watson reached for something in his coat, “You forgot this at the bar…”

John reached for his journal and yanked it away. He eyed it suspiciously and went through it.

“I didn’t read it,” the army doctor quickly said. “Every man needs their privacy, eh?”

John brought his hand up and the other took it with a firm grip, “John Winchester,” he introduced himself. “How about that first aid kit, huh?”

The younger man smiled, “Yes, of course.” And they walked away.

John Winchester had purchased his plane ticket and his flight was due in a week, giving him time to look for that demon. Now that that went down the drain, he guessed maybe this John Watson can show him around.

**Author's Note:**

> I know Watson is just a few years older than Dean, but I'm twisting the timeline a bit so it'll fit better. So, Watson is in his twenties, while Dean is still a teenager. I'll explain a little in the future.
> 
> Comment and review, please and thank you!


End file.
